Rest Stop
by inkstainedlife
Summary: With the rain and the darkness and the miles that stretch out before us on this desolate road, I wonder exactly what it is I've gotten myself into.
1. Chapter 1

**TITLE:** Rest Stop (PART 01 / ?)  
**RATING:** FRT  
**CHARACTER:** E. Prentiss / J. Jareau / Whole Damn Team  
**SUMMARY:** With the rain and the darkness and the miles that stretch out before us on this desolate road, I wonder exactly what it is I've gotten myself into.  
**WARNINGS:** Just the usual...adult content, mild violence, femslash, and maybe some minor adult language. But that's it for now. That's right, nobody dies in this one! Groovy, huh?  
**NOTES: **Okay, well, I started this last night. This whole story is loosely based on a Matchbox 20 song called _Rest Stop_, hence the title...but I don't consider this a "songfic." I have a basic outline of where I want it to go, but I don't know how often I'll be able to find the time to update...so please, be patient with me. I apologize for the length, I know it's not much, but hopefully the next part will be longer.

* * *

_Raven, you. Light traveling through a solid to form shadow, you._

_- Stanley Gemmell_

* * *

We pass the rest stop with its neon lights and bleary-eyed truckers, and I watch the gentle rain pelting the windshield of our rental car. I don't really want to be driving back, but with Prentiss injured, we know she isn't cleared to fly. No one argued with me when I suggested that I be the one to drive her back, but still, with the rain and the darkness and the miles that stretch out before us on this desolate road, I wonder exactly what it is I've gotten myself into.

I grope for the radio dial and turn it up just a notch the second I hear Guns 'N Roses begin to sing about a cold November rain. Perfect, I think, except that July is a long way off from November and I'm positive that if I were to stick my head out the driver's side window, the downpour wouldn't exactly feel cold either. Still, those minor errors can't extinguish the nostalgia creeping up the back of my neck. I haven't heard the song since highschool and yet, I still don't feel any older now than I was back then.

I turn my head to glance at Emily before returning my eyes to the slick highway. She sleeps heavily with her head resting against the rain-splattered window, using my coat as a pillow. I carefully place a hand on her back, just so I can feel the breath swirling around inside her lungs.

I try not to think too much as I feel the sharp inhale and exhale of air; I try not to think about the bomb, the explosion, the shrapnel embedded into her face and neck - the thought of losing her. I attempt desperately to hold onto the memory of her laughter, that very same morning, and the way her hips felt in my palms when she kissed my forehead.

She shifts suddenly and I quickly pull my hand away and put it back on the steering wheel. No one has ever woken Emily Prentiss from a deep sleep and lived to tell the tale. I hear her groan and turn down Guns 'N Roses until they are only a low hum in the back of my mind.

"What time is it?" she murmurs into my coat and then begins to sit up, thinking better of it as a hand shoots to the side of her head where she's still seeping blood through the gauze.

I'll have to re-dress it for her later, if I'm ever able to find a vacant hotel room at this time of night. My eyes already feel as though they're bleeding, screaming for rest, and there is no way I'm going to allow Emily to take over driving. Not after the two Vicodins she swallowed as soon as she was settled in the car, and the weather being as uncooperative as it is.

"Take it easy," I say gently, "it's nearly one in the morning. You've been out for three hours."

"I remember Lake Erie, and then..."

"Then you were pretty much down for the count," I finish with a sardonic smile. "How are you feeling?"

Snickering, "Like I just had a bomb explode in my face."

"Funny. And embellishing. Luckily you and Morgan were far enough away. Any closer, and I'd probably be planning funeral arrangements right now."

She tries to laugh, but it breaks off somewhere deep in her throat. I start to wonder if she could hear the sadness in my voice, masked by a clever quip. She grows quiet for so long that I give her another sideways glance. She's looks back at me with a soft expression and I have to bite my bottom lip as I avert my eyes back to the road.

* * *

**TO BE CONTINUED...**


	2. Chapter 2

**TITLE:** Rest Stop (PART 02 / ?)  
**RATING:** FRT  
**CHARACTER:** E. Prentiss / J. Jareau / Whole Damn Team  
**SUMMARY:** I perch myself on the edge of the bed and smooth a hand across my forehead, the shooting pain in it ebbing out to a dull throb.  
**WARNINGS:** Content, violence, femslash, language. SPOILERS: 5.11 - Retaliation, but nothing major.  
**NOTES: **This part took some effort, not quite sure why. I'm hoping it'll develope a little bit more in the next one. Also, thanks so much for the reviews. You guys are definitely made of win.

* * *

_The stars of heaven are steady,_  
_The founded hills remain,_  
_Though I to earth and darkness_  
_Return in blood and pain._

_- A. E. Housman_

* * *

"She's okay, right?"

I hear Garcia's static-riddled voice over the room phone, somewhat bitter that my cell isn't getting any service and yet not at all surprised. I had five bars when we left Michigan, but that was also when we were a lot closer to civilization and a lot farther from the angry clouds.

"Yeah, that's why I'm calling. Also to let you know that we decided to stop at a hotel for the night. The weather's getting pretty bad, and I was having trouble keeping my eyes open."

"That was probably a smart decision. Is she awake? I wanna talk to her. I'm assuming you two are sharing a room?"

I try not to blush, even though I know she can't see, but it fails miserably. Garcia is the one person on the team I know I don't have to worry about, but still, it's a sensitive subject. The rest of the team doesn't know, or pretends not to know. But when I felt secure enough to confide in Garcia, her only reaction was something along the lines of, _Well, it's about time._

"Yeah, mom, we're sharing a room. But don't worry, we'll use protection," I say with a sly grin, and then, "actually, she's attempting to take a bath by herself right now. I offered to help, but you know how she is."

"Oh, absolutely. Well, just tell her I said to rest up. Which means no ass-kicking, busting in doors, or becoming a spontaneous bomb-tester for at least a week."

"Alright, will do. Thanks, Penelope."

"Love ya."

I perch myself on the edge of the bed and smooth a hand across my forehead, the shooting pain in it ebbing out to a dull throb. This past week as been an utter trainwreck, but I have no reason to complain.

I'm not the one who's going to have to avoid strangers' eyes in the supermarket as they gaze at the battle scars across the bridge of my nose.

* * *

Emily eased herself out of the steaming tub, wincing with every single movement, hardly able to breathe as the pain radiated up her ribcage and across her bruised shoulders. She didn't think she'd initially been thrown that hard, but the force of the blow and Morgan shouldering her out of the way had knocked her unconscious for nearly a minute, a couple of feet away. Or so JJ had told her.

"Next time," Emily had retorted to JJ in kind while the doctor bandaged a nasty cut on her cheekbone, "you be the one to go after the asshole planting bombs in parking garages and I'll deal with the media. Okay?"

Morgan had walked away nearly unscathed except for minor burns on his arms, and a bruised ego for not having detected the explosive device sooner. Emily silently envied his long legs and years of playing football in his formative years, for they definitely became useful to him that day. However, if he'd managed to shove her out of the way just a few seconds earlier, her own injuries might not have been so severe. She'd told him it was okay; at least they'd made it out alive, no civilians were hurt in the blast, and they'd eventually captured their bomber.

But she knew that the guilt would eat at him anyway, just because that's the kind of person he is. He always felt responsible for her when they teamed up to hunt down an unsub. Though he knew that she could take care of herself, he still felt it was his duty to make for damn sure that everyone made it out alive, or at least not broken. When he didn't succeed, it always took its toll on him. Emily could see how it aged him, and it tugged at her heart.

As she stood naked in front of the misty bathroom mirror of the hotel and watched the purple-green bruises already making obscene patterns across her upper chest, she knew it could have been a lot worse. The bruises didn't even worry her; it was the slivery cuts around her forehead, her cheeks, jawline and neck which were going to be a bitch to try to conceal. It amazed her that she didn't require stitches. Scarring would be minimal, so she supposed she had every right to feel grateful. But the truth of it was, she didn't know how many more close calls she should accept before finally deciding she'd had enough.

Emily slowly raised a finger to glide it over her split lip and then she wondered briefly how many lives a profiler had, and if it was a prerequisite to joining the bureau to use up your first two in less than a year. She suddenly flashed back to last winter, that car crash in the middle of the night, Morgan rushing to her side with distress in his eyes, then JJ being the first person she'd called from the hospital. Emily had told her then that she'd climbed a hillside with a concussion to get back to her, and she would gladly do it again.

When Emily finally emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in a robe with fresh bandages bundled in her hands, JJ was sitting on the bed and raking a hand through her hair. She looked up when Emily approached her.

"Are you okay?" Emily asked, gingerly taking a seat beside JJ and placing the gauze in her lap.

JJ tried for a crooked smile and replied with, "Shouldn't I be asking _you_ that?"

"Probably. But I'm fine. The bath helped. You're the one who looks like her dog just got run over."

"Just tired. I called Garcia to let her know where we are. She wanted me to tell you that she loves you. Morgan is still apologizing, Reid and Rossi send their best, and Hotch has given you strict orders to take some time off. Garcia herself also said to slow it down a little, at least until you can walk upright."

With a shallow laugh, "She's met me, right?"

"Yeah, that's what I said. But you know she worries."

JJ's eyes dropped then and she grew so quiet that Emily began to get nervous. She could tell something was bothering her, she was almost certain she had an idea of what it was, and when JJ still didn't speak, Emily reached for her hand.

"Look at me," Emily urged but instead, JJ's eyes flew to an imperfection on the wall.

"I don't think I can."

Emily knew why. Looking at her marred face was just too much, it was too close to home for her. It was the constant reminder of human fragility and the concept of losing someone she loved.

Emily put her fingers to JJ's chin and turned her head to look at her and stare down the horror literally written all across her face like a mad man's work of art.

"I'm okay, Jen."

Emily could see JJ's eyes grow moist, the blue in them reflecting tragedy in the dim light of the room. JJ paused, even after Emily released her, suddenly unable to turn her eyes away. A tear slowly began trickling down her face, but she remained silent.

_God,_ Emily thought, _she's so much tougher than she gives herself credit for._ She wished she could tell JJ that it wouldn't even leave a scar, but she knew that might be a lie. JJ did too.

"I just..." JJ's voice trailed off mournfully.

Emily put her hand to the side of JJ's face, kissed her downturned mouth, tried to make it all better. But she knew it wouldn't be that easy.

That night in bed, when Emily carefully turned her exposed back so she could face the wall, she pretended to sleep while JJ's frail hand lightly trailed the contusions clouding the bony wingspread of her shoulderblades.

* * *

**TO BE CONTINUED...**


	3. Chapter 3

**TITLE**: Rest Stop (PART 03 / ?)  
**RATING:** FRT  
**CHARACTER: **The Whole Damn Team / J. Jareau / E. Prentiss  
**SUMMARY:** Still, Emily could tell there was something else unspoken inside their relationship.  
**WARNINGS:** Content, violence, femslash, language. SPOILERS: 4.03 - Minimal Loss and 4.17 - Demonology.  
**NOTES: **I know this is lame, but I'm kinda busy these days so it's hard for me to get out as much of this story as I want to. So once again, nothing really important happens in this chapter but please, be patient, because I am determined to at least _try_ to make it through this. But for now, this is all you get. And as always, thank you for your kind reviews.

* * *

_It was the love of love, __the love that swallows up all else, __a grateful love, __a love engendering __gentleness and goodness __that moved me __and that I saw in you._

_- Wlliam Carlos Williams_

* * *

The morning is wet with dew and I almost slip in a puddle as I juggle between helping Emily to the car and carrying our overnight bags. I grip onto her elbow for dear life, trying not to hurt her and probably doing a poor job, but somehow she manages to steady me with a wince of effort. She's always been my touchstone, and I just wonder when it will be a good time for me to be hers.

I hike the bags higher up on my shoulder as I ease her into the passenger side and buckle her seatbelt for her, basking in the whispering air she breathes on me when I have to lean across. Just as I sway back to stand, she catches my arm with a pale hand. My forehead crinkles in confusion when I look at her. Ever since last night, when she made me look at her carved up face, really _see_ her for the first time, I've found it difficult to tear my eyes away. _Like standing in the wake of an explosion,_ I think, and then shudder at my own morbid idea of a joke; it sounds like something Emily would say.

But now...now that I can see her skin in the bright glow of the sun - bearing all of its weight down on her chin and neck - the slices look redder, more furious than they did just a few hours ago when it was still dark. I try not to cringe and I have to swallow hard to get the lump out of my throat. I know they'll heal; I have to keep reminding myself that it's not as bad as it looks, and eventually they'll fade.

Finally, after settling her in and fighting the nausea in the pit of my stomach, she says, "Try not to drive over any bumps or potholes, okay?"

I break into a comforting smile and nod, the only response I can claim, before shutting the door and jogging around to the driver's side. I glance at my watch before entering the vehicle, relieved that we're still making decent time.

* * *

Emily loved JJ because she was just so pure; because she made Emily take a few extra days off after Colorodo; because JJ was the only person who could get her out of bed after Matthew's death. And then, the delicate way JJ was handling her after the incident in the parking garage. JJ had pulled her from the abyss more times than she could count, more times than she could even remember, and it left her a little hollow with undying gratitude.

Still, Emily could tell there was something else unspoken inside their relationship. It was like a livewire running all the way through, suffocating static, but neither knew how to break through it. Not with so many other things left unsaid. Denial, she figured, was a lot like hope except with a more unflattering end result.

Emily knew that she cared for JJ and craved her affection in a way she never had to with men, but she also knew that if there was one thing that would drive a wedge between them, it was going to be the job.

She closed her eyes in the carseat and leaned her head against the window. Her hands felt ice cold when JJ climbed into the seat beside her and started the engine.

_And then, _Emily thought as she let sleep consume her, _I'm not quite sure I love her in the way she needs me to._

* * *

Two days after Cyrus beat the shit out of her, I found myself holding up her doorframe, lightly tapping for her to let me in. She did, finally, giving me an aged smile behind her bruised face and battered body. She said she could barely raise her arms above her head, and then she asked me to help her wash her hair.

I didn't mind; I would have done anything for her. Anything.

* * *

"No, Hotch, we're only about 80 miles out," I speak into my PDA, which finally found a connection two miles away from the hotel. I look at Emily as I start to merge onto the highway. She's asleep still, and I wonder briefly if I should check her breathing. Then I see her stir and I know I'm over-reacting."It wouldn't be taking us so long," I tell Hotch, "but there was a pile-up not too far back and fallen tree branches all over the roads. The storm got really pissed at us, but we should be home in a couple of hours."

"I'm beginning to think that you guys would have been safer flying with us. We managed to avoid any bad weather. But I didn't want to take the chance with her on the plane. How is she?"

One more glance at Emily, "Asleep. She's pretty banged up, but no worse for the wear."

Emily begins to stir and her eyes flutter open to look at me.

"It's Hotch," I whisper to her, "do you want to talk to him?"

One shake of her head and she leans back against the window.

"She took her pain meds before we hit the road, so she's pretty out of it right now."

"Just tell her I said to allow herself time to heal. No arguments."

"I'll try," I smile into the receiver.

I disconnect the call, but the wave of static still lingers in the air. I hear her stir at my side, and then her muffled voice.

"How much longer?"

"Until home? Should be a couple of hours."

The windshield of the car begins to tap incessantly as swollen drops of rain start to fall. I switch on the wipers, adjusting their speed to match the battering downpour.

_Then again,_ I think to myself, _maybe not._

* * *

**TO BE CONTINUED...**


	4. Chapter 4

******TITLE:** Rest Stop (PART 04 / ?)  
******RATING:** FRT**  
****CHARACTER:** E. Prentiss / J. Jareau / Whole Damn Team  
**SUMMARY: **"Are you okay?" I ask with a startled heart and wide eyes.**  
WARNINGS: **Adult content, mild violence, femslash, minor adult language. SPOILERS: 4.17 - Demonology...yeah you'll be really lost if you haven't seen it.**  
********NOTES: **Whew, just when I think I've given up on this story, one of you awesome people leaves an even nicer review and it just steps up my creative drive...Funny how that works. Anyway, here's the next part. A lot of rambling, so I'm sorry about that, but I tend to get really wordy (and descriptive) in my writing style when the inspiration hits me. And I wanted to make this part longer for you guys. So...I hope it's okay.

* * *

_Just three miles from the rest stop_  
_And my mouth's too dry to rage_  
_The light was shining from the radio_  
_I could barely see her face_

_- Matchbox 20_

* * *

"Hotch? Aar-"

The phone crackles loudly in my ear and then I hear a final _snap_ as the call is cut off. Frustrated, I toss the phone in the backseat. I wanted to tell Hotchner our current status, that I may not make it back in time for the next profile, but something tells me he's probably already figured that out by now. Especially if he's been watching The Weather Channel.

Driving through the torrents, my windshield wipers blazing in front of me, I still have to lean forward in my seat and hunch across the steering wheel to search for the road ahead of me. It's one neverending lane of empty byway; no cars ahead, none behind me...Not that I would be able to tell as I can barely see three inches in front of me. One glance skyward, and I see the intimidating darkness bruising the clouds. It looks much later than five o'clock in the evening.

I'm already pondering which hotel has the best rates when I hear her sharply gasp beside me as she sits up in her seat. I try to look at her with concern but keep my eyes on the road at the same time. I can't tell which is making me more anxious: her or the rain.

"Are you okay?" I ask with a startled heart and wide eyes whichA are darting between her and the wet asphalt.

She nods as she looks around; I can tell she's still in a pain-killer daze as she examines the change in weather.

"I take it we're not going to make it home tonight."

I shake my head and bite my bottom lip as I turn my head to face her, never even knowing that if I'd waited only two seconds later, I might have seen the wind gust an uprooted tree just a few feet from my front bumper.

* * *

She wasn't fat, or skinny. She didn't have dimples or freckles. She didn't always make straight A's but she tried, Lord knows she tried. She didn't excel in sports and she was never a prom queen, in fact, she feigned being ill the day of the big dance.

No, there was nothing at all spectacular about Emily Prentiss when she was fifteen. She was ordinary, average; the girl others snickered about behind her back but smiled with fake plastic teeth when they would pass by her in the school halls.

She was who she always thought she was destined to be. Unextraordinary. But she knew that she had her boys, Matthew and John, and she was secure in her knowledge that it'd always be just the three of them.

Emily thought about that photograph often, the image of those three kids in a strange city they've created for themselves. Individually, divided by weakness. Together, a force to be reckoned with. They were the holy trinity, and when John whispered sweetly into Emily's ear that first time, the trinity was severed; it began the tear that would eventually alienate her.

She wanted to be accepted, and she was glad that Matthew and John did even when the rest of the world didn't. But when she took the at-home test and the strip turned pink, she wondered just how in the hell they would accept _that._

Then a couple of decades later, Emily's first time with _her_ was nothing short of miraculous. That she could open herself up and have her heart laid bare for someone else to consume entirely; that she was another willing participant, that it was always about more than sex; it was that JJ _cared_ for Emily, loved her, and maybe even cherished her. It made her feel so very precious, prized, completely owned.

She leaned her head back once as JJ grazed the curve of her neck, whispering along her throat while Emily cursed in several different languages. It was that bold first encounter which still lingered in their veins. _Finally,_ Emily thought then, _I feel like I'm exactly where I belong._

And that was when she knew, either way, that she'd fallen hopelessly, helplessly in love.

* * *

I slam on the brakes as I swerve to miss the branch, feeling every ridge of the screeching tires in the backs of my thighs, so I can only imagine how much it's disturbing Emily. I wait for the car to pull to a complete stop and I try to shake myself out of my haze. I look at Emily and she's looking at me as baffled as I am at her.

This time it's her turn to ask, "Are you okay?"

I nod as I brush my hair out of my eyes and give her a critical once-over.

"Are you?"

She nods but I can still see her face collecting with discomfort. She sighs heavily and cradles her bruised ribs with one arm.

"Okay," I speak loud enough to be heard above the rain beating down on us in metallic thumps, "I think there's another rest stop about 3 miles up. We can pull in there to gather ourselves and, if my phone wants to play nice, I'll try to Mapquest the nearest hotel."

* * *

I think I knew that she couldn't love me, wouldn't love me, the day I walked into her bedroom and found her curled beneath the covers, her knees touching her chest and her face wet with tears.

I ordered her to get up as I yanked the sheets off her trembling form, and when she still didn't move, I reached underneath her and pulled her into a sitting position. Her head immediately dropped against my shoulder as I sank down onto the bed beside her. I shivered when her arms and hair fell all around me like a shadow.

She wailed against my shirt, soaking the fabric while her fingers clenched around my waist and I pushed her hair back away from her face. She murmured something then, so low I could barely hear, but I thought it sounded an awful lot like, "He died for me."

* * *

By some act of God, my phone decides to work the second we pull into the station with its light shining like a beacon through the rain and darkness. I can feel her grasp my hand as I pull into a parking space and I question her with my eyes.

"Jen," she says softly and I know I'm not going to like what she has to say; the only time she'll call me Jen is when it's something serious, something I can't deny. And if she calls me Jennifer, I know I'm probably better off running like the wind. I want to twist away from her grasp but she has me locked as I feel my throat constrict while my mouth goes dry.

I plead silently for her to not say it, to not speak this once. The words start to scramble wildly inside my brain and I can't make sense out of a single one. But I practice the panic-stricken speech I'm going to say to her the moment she's said her piece.

_I'm happy, Em, perfectly happy living in this lie and if you tell me that you want to bail out after all these years, I know there's nothing I can do to stop you. I've tried to be...but I know that neither of us are. Not anymore._

I know how pathetic I sound, even inside my own mind, but it's nearly impossible to control as she spills her emotions out on me.

"JJ," she begins again and I'm relieved that she's not calling me _Jen_ or _Jennifer._ But _JJ_ is still safe; it's what my friends call me.

I look at her where the fluorescent cast is streaming into the car and splashing across her face like a stained-glass window. The scarred part of her is mostly hidden in the dark. Mostly. I can still see the sharp edges of three days ago outlining her lips and eyes. _But,_ I think to myself, _she's still gorgeous in the false light._

* * *

**TO BE CONTINUED...**


	5. Chapter 5

**TITLE**: Rest Stop (PART 05 / ?)  
**RATING:** FRT  
**CHARACTER: **The Whole Damn Team / J. Jareau / E. Prentiss  
**SUMMARY:** It feels like a dead weight...  
**WARNINGS:** Content, violence, femslash, language. I've been over this part several (that's an understatement) times, drafting and re-drafting, but I haven't found any noticeable spoilers. I apologize if there are.  
**NOTES: **I hope no one's given up on this story, but if you have I don't really blame you. I know it's been a whole minute since my last post, but "real" life keeps getting in the way. I'm still determined to finish it, either way. So anyway, for those of you still following this saga, here's part 5, and it's the longest part so far. :)

* * *

_I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead; _  
_I lift my lids and all is born again. _  
_(I think I made you up inside my head.) _

_The stars go waltzing out in blue and red, _  
_And arbitrary blackness gallops in: _  
_I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead. _

_- Sylvia Plath_

* * *

She sits on the edge of the bed and I think she looks a little unsteady, a little shaken as I hand her three white pills and a glass of water. I thank God for the thunder and lightning which initially severed our earlier conversation. My name died on her lips like the flat side of a razor. I don't know how much longer we'll be able to keep this up, I don't know what it means when she whispers _Jennifer_ to me in the middle of the night and how it used to thrill me when she'd only say it after we'd crash through each other like the waves of a tsunami. I just don't know as I sit beside her on the mattress and watch her swallow her sleep.

* * *

We weren't always the most obvious match, but maybe that was what drew us together to begin with. I saw in Emily what I rarely saw in anyone else; she was a fighter, a survivor, and the only one I could call when the shit hit the fan. And Emily would show up at my door like a force of nature; I'd whimper against her as she stripped me down and it was always a given that we would sleep together. But I wasn't expecting how exposed I'd feel afterward, how disant Emily would be during. Sometimes she'd coyly wink at me before gathering her clothes and leaving, as though it meant nothing more than a cheap one-night stand.

Even so, I was a glutton for punishment. I still found that I needed Emily close, even when she was being distant, but I knew better than to ask why she was so cold. I knew that Emily would tell me when she was ready, if there was anything to tell. But it seemed to me that there wasn't; there never was. I quickly learned to accept that it was just the way our relationship worked. I wanted Emily, and Emily wanted me to bring her back to life.

Then, I was just foolish enough to believe that she loved me too. It hurt in the same way a limb can still ache long after its been sawed off. A phantom pain, I often thought, the haunting sting hidden deep within my breastbone.

So that's why, when I'd gone with Spencer Reid to one of our usual Friday night bar sessions, I'd spent most of the time throwing back beers instead of actually listening to what he was saying; his voice was a low drone in the back of my mind. I felt guilty, as though I was cheating on our ritual, maybe even cheating on Spence in the long run. But there wasn't a lot I could do to stop it.

"Jen, you okay?"

The rest of the bar began to slow down; the people around me seemed to slither away like quiet children afraid of getting hurt. My mug was empty but I stared at it like it could fill itself up if I just thought about it long enough. I lifted a thumb and swiped at the excess foam around the rim of the glass.

"Hm?" I asked the voice beside me, knowing damn well it belonged to Reid, yet completely unaware all the same. The alcohol had gone straight to my head. I felt about three sheets to the wind and I couldn't remember the last time I'd consumed anything besides coffee. My stomach began to roll, but I didn't know if it was because of the alcohol or stressing myself out over a certain dark-haired agent. I'd never felt so drained and pale, the wooziness growing stronger by the second. That's what Emily had left me with, and I felt resentment begin to creep up the back of my neck toward the base of my skull where it waited patiently like a tiger stalking its prey.

"Are you..." Spencer let the question trail when I looked at him, knowing he could see the blue in my eyes turning a fierce shade of cerulean. He could already tell what it was, I thought then, but it didn't matter to me anymore. It didn't matter if anyone else found out, or knew, or suspected. If they asked if Emily and I were in a relationship, I could still say No, and it wouldn't exactly be a lie.

Reid put his hand on mine and told me he would take me home. I didn't argue. In fact, I'd had enough alcohol in me to smudge my senses so I asked if we could go to his place. I wasn't anticipating anything from him; no romance or intimacy, no empty promises. But I knew that if he took me back to my apartment, I'd be alone in there, contemplating calling Emily. Knowing that eventually I would, and then the cycle would start all over again.

_I need a break,_ I thought as Reid helped me up to his third-floor apartment and laid me out on his couch. I heard him put a trashcan near me, within arms reach, and I was grateful I at least had a friend like him. Someone who would be silent when I needed him to be, help me to lie down without any expectations, even put a bucket down beside my head in case I needed to throw up.

"I'm not that drunk. Just can't be alone," I mumbled into the arm of the couch, and when I didn't hear a response, I lazily opened one eye to see Reid exiting the kitchen to bring me a cup of what I assumed was coffee. _Great,_ I thought wryly, _just what I need more of._ But I didn't complain as I forced myself into a sitting position and greedily sipped the strong, black liquid.

"It's going to be alright, JJ," I heard Spencer say as he took a seat beside me, smoothing my hair away and letting it cascade down my back. I couldn't look at him, but I took another sip and pondered asking him _when_ it would be okay. I chose to let the question go unanswered as I set down the radiating mug and fell into the comfort of his shoulder.

* * *

JJ had been asleep for hours, though Emily was the one drugged up. But she knew JJ, and Emily knew that the quieter JJ got, the more exhausted she was._ Not only from driving my sorry ass back home because I don't know how to duck in time when there's metal and shards of broken glass flying at my face. But the taking care of me, the worry she always carries around on her shoulders like Atlas carried the world, and the weather itself...It's just got to be too much for her._

She knew the burden of it all was crushing JJ with tremendous power, and the guilt pressed in all around her. Emily could feel it digging into her sore ribcage as she stared out the window. She pressed her forehead against the cool pane of moistened glass, and gazed out into the night. She sighed as she dragged a thin finger down the foggy glass, leaving a clear trail in its wake. The mist reminded her of death, maybe, of untold memoirs and honest lies. How cruel she must have been, to lead JJ this far without a guide. Emily thought she might have scarred her own heart, she wasn't sure, but she knew that it ached inside her chest just the same. She could still see the red wounds lining her jaw through the closed window, nearly faded to a bright pink. It reminded her of the color of the sky right before the sun goes down.

She glanced back at the bed where JJ remained peaceful, undisturbed, eyes closed toward the ceiling. Emily stepped away from the window, afraid of what else she might see in the cloudy mirror, and tread quietly to JJ's bedside where she slowly bowed to her knees, grimacing with the movement, and then gently combed a stray strand of blond hair away from JJ's forehead. She softly pressed her lips to the spot where her fingertips still lingered before forcing herself back up, trying to be as quiet as she could. With a grunt, she stumbled to her feet and then sunk down into the armchair which, thankfully, was only a few inches behind her.

Emily tried to relax, curling her legs beneath her and leaning her head against the back of the chair. But her eyes never left JJ's silent shape in the darkened room. She stirred then, mumbling slightly as she turned in bed. Emily could tell JJ was dreaming and she held her breath absentmindedly for a moment. She wondered what JJ was dreaming about, curious for a split second if she was being haunted by her own memories. Then, it occurred to her, maybe she didn't even care.

* * *

I turn off the car stereo and listen to the silence surrounding me. There's a red Buick in the distance ahead, maybe five or six car-lengths away, and I'm grateful it's still early enough that traffic shouldn't impede with this last stretch of our unexpected journey. That is, if the weather cooperates. But I have faith it will be smooth sailing as I watch the sun meekly breaking through the clouds and gleaming against the windshield.

I steal a look at Emily and notice she's awake. And she's staring at me,_ staring;_ I swear I can feel her gazing right through me.

"What? What is it?" I ask stupidly, not really sure I even want to know.

I grip the steering wheel tighter and keep my eyes focused on the still-damp road, unable to take the iciness in her stare.

"I can't do this anymore."

Her voice is unusually small and as flat as a note, but I know what she said just the same. It's the same tune she's been humming almost since that first intrepid time. The heaviness of the truth bears down on us in the car and once again, I feel my throat go dry. It begins to tighten, and it reminds me of lifesupport, the tube of a respirator invading the narrow passage of my trachea; it tastes bitter and sour and thicker than mud. It all makes so much sense and all at once, the road becomes a blur in my field of vision as my head starts to spin. My hands are shaking and I feel suddenly delirious. Nothing makes sense, absolutely nothing. I know I need to stop before I run us off the road, but I'm not sure my foot can shift itself enough to find the break pedal. It feels like a dead weight-

_Or an amputated limb._

* * *

**TO BE CONTINUED...**


	6. Chapter 6

**TITLE:** Rest Stop (PART 06 / 06)  
**RATING:** FRT  
**CHARACTER:** E. Prentiss / J. Jareau / Whole Damn Team  
**SUMMARY:** She still doesn't turn, but I hear her mechanical voice as she speaks to the window.  
**WARNINGS:** Can't think of any spoilers. If I'm wrong, I apologize.  
**NOTES:** Well guys, this story has pretty much run its course I think. I'm probably going to piss off a lot of people with how I decided to end it. But it just wouldn't be me if I didn't end it with some angst and the (maybekinda) possibility of a sequel (?). I know it's not the best part, especially for a finale, but I think I'm kind of getting burnt out with it too. So I apologize for the suckage. The quote is taken from the poem "The Inventory of Goodbye." And thank you so much to the ones who have actually stuck around from the beginning to the end. Your reviews mean the world to me, so I dedicate this part to you.

* * *

_I have a pack of letters,_  
_I have a pack of memories._  
_I could cut out the eyes of both._  
_I could wear them like a patchwork apron._  
_I could stick them in the washer, the drier,_  
_and maybe some of the pain would float off like dirt?_

_- Anne Sexton_

* * *

JJ slammed on the breaks for the second time in less than two days, except this time it wasn't to avoid a fallen branch, but to avoid a fallen dream. It scattered before her eyes and then disolved just as quickly like grains of sand.

She yanked the steering wheel just three seconds before actually driving her and Emily off the road. Just a few miles from home, with the glowing sun breathing down on them through whispers of dead clouds, JJ didn't look at Emily right away. Not after pressing the break pedal and swerving to miss the guardrail; not even after the car came to a complete stop. A beat-up Ford truck swooshed past JJ's sloppy parking job, the driver leaning on his horn, and Emily swore she heard the tail end of a "crazy bitch" being yelled out the open window. Her reflexes kicked in for merely an instant, only long enough to think, _Crazy bitch? I'll show you crazy..._

Then she looked back at JJ. Mostly surprised, halfway relieved to find her not returning the stare. She remained as poised as a statue, staring at a tiny crack in the windshield.

_Shit,_ was the only thing Emily could think then, _SHIT!_

"Okay, Em, if that's what you want."

Emily heard JJ submit, and it sounded so far away, like a soft hymn being played in a chapel. JJ let her own words settle before silently shifting the car and beginning the rest of the trip home.

_No, _Emily told herself repeatedly, _it's not what I want. But it's the way it has to be._

* * *

"You guys are totally grounded!"

I can hear the worry in Garcia's voice the second she answers the phone. I cradle the Palm Pilot against my ear as I help Emily into bed, knowing she's taken more of her pain-killer than was prescribed. Four 500 mg tablets later, her legs and arms are like syrup as she braces herself against me. I should have stopped her at two, but I also know that there's really no stopping Emily Prentiss.

I lean her against the pillows and pull the cool sheets over her limp body. She's still in her clothes as she sinks into bed and she turns her back to me. In some way, it feels as though she's pushing me away too. Though, she's so out of it that she proabably couldn't even find her ass with both hands.

I turn my attention back to Garcia, "I know I should have called you earlier, but I figured Hotch would have let everyone know what happened by now."

Emily's body relaxes into the sheets and I smooth her hair behind her ear, out of habit. She doesn't seem to mind, though, as she fades into sleep.

"It doesn't mean I don't worry," Garcia firmly reminds me, "You know I always feel better after having talked to you myself. How's my girl?"

I stop at the bedroom door, glancing over my shoulder to see Emily's unmoving silouhette, and I grab for my phone before it slides out of the crook of my neck. Pressing the receiver back against my ear, I slip quietly out of her room, gently nudging the door closed behind me before wandering out to her livingroom. My feet feel heavy and tired as I drag them along the floor, like two dripping blocks of cement.

"She-she's fine. I just helped her to bed, so she's trying to get some real rest right now."

I've always had a way of downplaying scenarios, even as a kid, always looking at the world through rose-colored glasses. I always thought Emily's cynicism was the perfect match for me.

"I'm not talking about her," Garcia states, "I know she's fine, because she's in good hands. I'm talkin' about_ you_, Sweetpea. You don't sound so hot."

"Well I don't _feel_ so hot," I bite back unintentionally, "What can I say? Misadventures bring out the unsexy in me."

Her voice is wry but friendly when she responds, "Nice try, honey. What's going on?"

"How did you-"

"I can hear it in yor voice. Did something happen between you two?"

After a pause, "How do you_ do_ that?"

"I'm very intuitive, or haven't you figured that out by now? Spill...or I'm going to sic Rossi on you to tell you his longest war story."

I shut my eyes and sink into the couch. I know I can't leave Emily alone tonight. I still feel obligated to be the one to make sure she gets through the night. I almost laugh in spite of myself, and then I remember I'm still on the phone.

I quickly decide to tell Garcia what happened on the road and about how maybe it's all been a lie. I tell her that I still desperately love Emily, I tell her how lost I feel, how helpless, how I feel torn between my loyalty to Em, and my loyalty to myself. And the bitterness, oh god, I tell her all about the bitterness. In my throat and lungs and the back of my fucking skull. Garcia listens to my plight, and I can hear her chewing over the right words to say. She should know by now that she doesn't have to be careful with me, but she always is, and that's why I love her.

"_Talk_ to her, Jayje. It's obvious you two aren't getting enough out in the open." There's a thoughtful pause before she continues, "I was watching this episode of Dr. Phil, and he says that you should recognize when a relationship's not working and to be honest when it needs fixing."

"Dr. Phil, Garcia? Really?"

"Don't be such a hater. At least it's not Oprah. But you wanna know what else he said?"

"Not really, but I'm sure you're going to tell me anyway."

"He said that you don't fix things by fixing your partner...She's going to get better eventually, you know. Don't hide behind her injury as a way to, like, avoid what's really going on."

I smile, "You know me too well."

I hear her lightly chuckle before saying, "Well _somebody's _got to look out for you, especially when you're too busy looking out for everyone else."

After a few minutes, I end the call with Garcia, placing my phone on the coffee table and resigning myself to the couch. At least this time, I'm not drunk, and I'm with Emily.

* * *

I awake to find her once again glued to her window. She only does this when she's depressed, when she's heavy with thought. Her back is to me but I don't approach her, don't even make my presence known as I slowly rise to a sitting position.

I watch her on the window-seat, perched like a cat as she sadly looks down at the empty streets below. And I think she looks aged, wisened by experience in her crinkled clothes and hair matted down her back and around her shoulders.

I carefully get to my feet, kneading the knots out of my back in the process. She doesn't turn around.

"Emily," I say softly, too softly.

She still doesn't turn, but I hear her mechanical voice as she speaks to the window.

"You can take a shower here if you want to," she says.

I begin to put my shoes back on and finally, I can feel her eyes on me. And I can still see the horror on her face. It looks exposed and raw, and I want to touch her face before I go, I want to erase the pain with my fingers and then I can walk out the door knowing that it's probably for the last time.

"It's okay," I reply with the same quiet monotone she's giving me, "I'll shower and change at home."

I'd been told to talk to her, open up the door for her to escape through my dialogue. But now I know, the thing standing between us is her. I can't save her, just like I couldn't save her when the bomb went off, the same way I couldn't save her numerous other times, and I wonder just how much of our relationship was always based on me trying to rescue her. But she's finally found the one monster that neither of us can conquer. I hang my head in defeat.

My anguish stretches thin across my face, I know, so I turn away and my voice cracks when I begin to gather my phone and purse.

"Call me," I say, "Okay? If you need anything, or..."

The sentence trails like a long and winding road, like the lonely stretch of highway that led me to the rest stop where I now know I've left a piece of us inside the walls and spilled across the floor. _Maybe,_ I think, _the wind and the rain swept it up and it followed us all the way back. Maybe I'll find that missing piece on my doorstep, in my room, my bed. Looking at me with innocent eyes and asking where I went and what took me so long._

I sniffle in spite of myself as I shoulder my bag and force myself to look at her. She's so damn beautiful first thing in the morning, and it physically hurts me to see her bruised face, staring at me like she wants to ask, "What else? Is that all?"

I sniffle and wipe my nose, tearing my eyes away so she can't see how hard this is on me. I turn to go and I feel like I want to say something else, like there's still more that needs to be addressed, but I don't want to put anymore strain between us, or on Emily. She's still healing, afterall.

And in a way, so am I.

* * *

**THE END**


End file.
